This is new.

And I am trying.

I am trying to write something happy.

Today I left therapy and I walked around the neighboring town to do something for me.

How do I do something for me?

I do things for others all the time, but me?

I forget myself in whatever process life takes me.

So the concept of "me", doesn't feel like me.

 

The wind blows gently as sprinkles of water pitter patter on the side walk.

I found my way into an antique shop with all the histories of random objects whispering in my ear.

I found salt and pepper shakers that were shaped liked hedgehogs and I found them amusing.

Maybe this is me.

 

I proceeded to enjoy the rain drops caressing my cheeks as I made my way through alleyways.

In the alley ways, I found graffiti.

Only it wasn't graffiti.

One painting was a tree with every color a leaf is able to turn and it reached across an entire back side of a building.

One was trimmed with gold and really heavy on hues of blue.

Another was a bird with its wings spread and it was positioned into look like it was diving after some kind of prey.

But the inside of the lines were filled with mountains and a scenic view with emeralds and detailed pine trees.

Maybe this is me.

 

I see my reflection in the windows I pass by.

In some reflections, I am filled with yellowing books and art supplies.

In some reflections, I am filled with antiques and tatoo ink.

In others, I am filled with peoples faces whom I will most likely never see again.

I then think about how no human is just one thing.

How we are us by our likes and dislikes as well as various aesthetics and those we surround ourselves with.

Maybe this is me. 

 

We are constantly figuring out the purpose to our lives and who we are.

But if we step outside the normal routine and appreciate the happenings around us, maybe we can see a bit of ourselves all around us.

I am me.